The Diary of Albert de Morcerf
by Mrs. Phineas Nigellus
Summary: Albert received a diary from his mother before he left for the winter carnival. Through his entries, we get to see what really happened from then until the time of his departure through his own eyes. Based on book version by Penguin Classics.
1. Entry 1

10 February, morning

I, Monsieur Albert de Morcerf, having just received this lovely diary from Mother, hereby begin the log of my adventures. Most men my age have rather exciting times but I seem to find myself the exception. However, as they say there is no time but the present for change, which is why I've planned a most exciting excursion.

Although some admire Paris in the winter for her beauty and delicate tranquility, I find the desolate streets to be rather boring. A dear friend of mine, Franz d'Epinay, feels the same way and we have therefore decided to travel to Rome for the winter carnival. It will surely be just the distraction we need to break the monotony of the winter months. Apart from the merriment the carnival is famous for, there will also be plenty of women there and with luck one of us will meet just the lady to satisfy our needs. Franz and I will be departing soon and from there the real adventure begins.

With love until then,

Albert de Morcerf


	2. Entry 2

14 March, early evening

Heavens! Nearly a month ago I expressed my need to find adventure and if I didn't plummet head first instead! First of all, I must mention that the carnival itself was simply superb. The cuisine was splendid and the mere atmosphere of the place was enough to start your pulse racing. There were colors and lights and flashy costumes everywhere the eye could see and jovial music blared from every street corner, inviting merriment and dancing in the lavishly decorated squares. Streamers streamed, shakers shook, and colorful banners swayed to the music with the throbbing crowd below.

While we were there, Franz and I had the fortune of meeting a most intriguing man. He introduced himself only as the Count of Monte Cristo, but a man like him certainly needs no introduction. It's rather difficult to explain just what distinguishes him as it does. There is simply something about him that marks him as a man not to cross. But at the same time, he is quite approachable and generous—the Count was most helpful to Franz and I when we arrived and I owe him more than my life when I explain what happened later (which I will in a moment), but he has an alluring influence that emanates power and authority like none I've ever experienced. To be honest, it can be rather unnerving sometimes. When he looks at me I get the strange feeling that he is reading my mind. But it's probably just my paranoia speaking, however, and I feel I have plenty of reason to be, considering the tragedy that befell me in Rome. On the final night of the carnival, I left Franz with the carriage (which happened to be by courtesy of the Count) and departed for my rendezvous with a local woman (I found out later that her name was Teresa) who I had been paying special attention to all week. However, just as I arrived at the San Gio Como Church where we were to meet, I found the peasant girl who had accompanied me away from the dwindling bustle suddenly turn and grasp my wrists far too tightly and almost immediately I felt a sharp knock to the back of my head. My last conscious thought was that, now that the girl's face had come closer to my own in the moonlight, it wasn't a girl at all—--a young boy had dressed up in his sister's clothing in order to disguise himself. Then everything went black. When I awoke, I was bound and being unceremoniously dragged through a tall archway down a dark passage. The moonlight had disappeared behind the clouds and I was unfamiliar with my surroundings, so it was only when I emerged hours later in the daylight that I saw I had been imprisoned in the Catacombs of Saint Sebastian, but I digress.

When we had reached the central chamber, I was dragged off into a small alcove and searched. Of course, I hadn't brought more than a few francs with me and these bandits were not satisfied. Finally, I was made to pen my own ransom note (by Luigi Vampa himself, no less!) including instructions to Franz on how to free me. After that, I was left to my own devices (unbound, thankfully) and given a cloak to keep warm in the damp, drafty alcove.

No light penetrated down to where I lay, and I was still terribly cold and uncomfortable. How stupid I had been to let myself get in such a situation? I began to think about ways I could possibly extricate myself from the thieves' grasp, but the next thing I knew Luigi Vampa shaking me awake. It was only then as I sorely attempted to lift my head that I understood what had happened: by the position of my neck and the pounding deep within my skull, I realized that I had not fallen asleep at all----I had passed out! No doubt I had overindulged in the large variety of wines the carnival finale had offered, while mercifully for me Franz had drunk very little. Cautiously prying my eyes open, I barely made out the shadowy figures of Franz and who must have been the Count in the candlelight. Not wanting to make a fool of myself, I quickly made a seemingly offhanded comment (something to do with a dream involving dancing with the duke's daughter). My head felt nearly to the point where I feared it might explode and I was doing all I could just to keep up with the situation. I daresay they mistook my indifference as bravery and I can only pray they will never remember too clearly. I myself am even having difficulty pinning all the details…I must write quickly while I still remember.

After I was awake, I learned that the sole reason Luigi had decided to release me was due to the influence of the Count. Apparently the man is as well connected as the king himself, for it seemed it had taken minimal effort on his part. I thought it better not to ask especially since I was far too busy being grateful to analyze too much at that point. Later, the Count and I agreed that I would show him around Paris in exchange for the kindness he had paid me, which I think is a miniscule price to pay for my life. He's expected here 21 May, so I have roughly two months to prepare for his arrival. I can only hope that my tour guide abilities are extensive enough to repay the man who is responsible for so much. I've felt a small change in myself since I met him, though I can't yet identify exactly what it is, much like attempting to find a hairline fracture in an iceberg.

I must run now----I just arrived back in Paris today and there is much to do before I retire.

Safe once again,

Albert de Morcerf


	3. Entry 3

21 May, late evening

The Count arrived today, hauntingly punctual as he had predicted. I have, of course, spent the past two months building the man up for my friends (not that he needs it), so they were quite anxious to meet him. As a result, I invited them all over for lunch so he could have a proper welcome when he arrived. Around ten o'clock this morning, Lucien Debray, Beauchamp, Château-Renaud, and his friend Maximilien Morrel came in to await the Count. As I said, the Count came in at precisely half past, eerily down to the second. They all seemed fairly impressed with him, for he appeared as suave and well-learned as ever. He has even set up another meeting Monsieur Morrel already----I'm beginning to see how quickly the man can make contacts! Later, I took him by my parents' house so they could properly thank him for freeing me. Father behaved exceptionally well considering his norm of superior surliness. However, I am beginning to fear for Mother. While the Count was over she got strangely white and had to excuse herself to go lie down. I'm afraid she may have fallen ill in my absence and is far too brave and stubborn to let me know. I suppose for now all that can be done is to wait and practice vigilance. Mother has always been strong-willed and I daresay she'll tell me when she is ready.

Moving from Mother's health, however, I have now found something to further threaten my happiness. I recently learned that my father had signed a contract years ago that I am to marry Eugénie Danglars. Now, the time is drawing nearer. I will admit that I am less than excited about this marriage but see no way out of it. By no means do I want to anger or disgrace my father, but nor should I be condemned to an unhappy life due to the decision of another. And I could have possibly hit far off the mark, but I do not believe that Eugénie has any particular enthusiasm for the union either. Unfortunately for us, marriages are hardly ever based on true love nowadays, but I had always hoped that I could be moderately happy. Eugénie comes off as bossy, rude, and perpetually foul-tempered and I simply cannot imagine living with a woman like that who does not know her place. I suppose I could be worse off physically, but I would hardly think that makes up for her lackluster personality. My only hope now is that some unforeseen obstacle can come up to prevent this godforsaken ceremony.

Praying for a miracle,

Albert de Morcerf


	4. Entry 4

4 June, afternoon

An angel must have descended from Heaven just to watch over me! First the Count was my savior in Rome and now he has somehow abolished my binding to Mademoiselle Danglars! He insists he had nothing to do with it but merely days after I discussed my displeasure of it with him it was miraculously broken. Of course, father is quite upset that Monsieur Danglars reneged on his word that had been set so long ago. However, I know mother is secretly pleased; it was obvious by her fleeting smile that she doesn't want me to be unhappy any more than I do.

I'll be leaving this evening for Normandy with the Count. He seems to think a need a small break from recent happenings and I quite say I agree. Some fresh sea air is bound to do me good. Hopefully, as we'll be one-on-one, I'll be able to find out a bit more about him while I'm there. It's recently struck me that although we've been friends for four months, I know scarcely more about him now than I did in February. The strange thing is that he seems to know everything about me, even to the point of saying the exact thought that is coursing through my head at times. Of course, he is hardly a man to keep confidences, but I like to consider myself rather closer to him than some of his other friends.

Until next time,

Albert de Morcerf


	5. Entry 5

8 June, evening

My anger is causing my pen to shake so badly I can hardly write this evening! A most devastating event has occurred that has ruined the family name more severely than can ever be forgiven.

I has only been resting in Normandy for three days when suddenly my valet, Florentin, appeared holding a message from my dear friend Beauchamp. Alarmed, I raced forward to receive word that an atrocity had been printed in the morning paper----an abrupt article accusing my father of treason in a former life. I immediately saddled a horse and flew away from the salty sea smell. As I drew closer to the city, the scenery and smells began to fade as the air of industrialization grew around me. I feverishly rode through the night and it was when I finally reached Paris this morning that I learned the truth----that this despicable accusation was true. My own father! The man I had looked up to and adored all my life! How could this man I had once respected so much have committed such a horrible crime and buried it so deep all these wretched years? But through my anger toward my father I began to realize that my mother, too, was about to be cast aside in ruins. I could not let this happen. So I gathered Beauchamp and prepared to visit Danglars, the man rumored to have unearthed the crime. I confronted him with the article in a rather abrupt manner, but the longer he sat talking the more I recognized how stupid I had been: Danglars was not the one at all, it was my dearest friend, the Count of Monte Cristo! Looking back, I do not know how I did not see it before----his ease of manipulating people and accomplishing impossible deeds unnoticed should have led me to suspect him long ago. The man was obviously no good----Lord, I should have listened to Mother when she told to me to be wary of him! Did she not warn me? And was I not too hot-headed to heed her? Now he has been the downfall of our family and it is my fault! That is why, tomorrow morning, I plan to correct this mistake once and for all. Earlier this evening, I challenged the Count to a duel at the opera and he so kindly allowed me to choose the weapons. I chose pistols. I am somewhat of a master in these parts and the Count, a relative newcomer, is bound not to know this. With pistols, all this should end fairly quickly: no matter whether I win or lose, my misery will not be prolonged. Of course, I'd like to win the duel and get revenge on the Count for my father, but I am fully prepared to die for compromising my family's security. I only wish I did not have to leave Mother alone in this world----I am afraid that without me she might lose hope for all time, but it is the final sacrifice I will make. I may be leaving Mother behind if I die, but I can take comfort in the fact that I will die surrounded by friends who love me, defending the honor of my family. Tell me, what better death is there to die?

I must now go prepare for tomorrow, for it may be my last day on this earth.

Albert de Morcerf


	6. Entry 6

9 June, afternoon

I must make this fast----I am in an awful bind for time as we must be getting on before Father returns. Oh, but I haven't said, have I? Then I must devote another moment to explaining.

Before the duel this morning I found out that I had made a dreadful mistake: I thought that the Count had no right to do as he did to our family, but in fact he had more of a reason than I ever could have imagined! Far before he had betrayed Ali Pasha, my father had betrayed the Count, leading him to a life of misery and sorrow. And for this, right there on our would-be battlefield, I apologized to the Count. Rather unorthodox, I admit, but as they say, desperate times call for desperate measures. And it has just now come into my consciousness how lucky I was to have spoken with Mother----not only do I now know it was not my fault for the Count's attack, but my fathers, but I have no doubt now that the Count could, and would, have killed had I given him the chance.

But now there is nothing left in Paris for Mother and I. Our honor and finances are in ruins and our friends will hardly continue to associate with us now, so we must flee. I know not where I'm going to take her, but I have planned to find her a doable place to stay before setting off to join the Spahis. This will ensure Mother enough money to live and with luck I will be able to earn back some of the honor my father lost our family. Mother is packing as I write----I had meant to halt my own scurrying only briefly to pen a farewell, for I will not be carrying my journal with me when I leave.

Now, Bertuccio, the Count's servant, is at the door waiting to convey a message and I really must get to packing before Father returns.

A final farewell, for my journey begins!

Albert de Morcerf


End file.
